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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867646">Oh, Lazarus, when will your debts get paid?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUsagi1995/pseuds/TheUsagi1995'>TheUsagi1995</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Person of Interest (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, Blood and Injury, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e10 Number Crunch, Episode: s01e11 Super, Happy Ending, Harold Finch Loves John Reese, Hurt John Reese, Hurt/Comfort, Injured John Reese, Injury, John Reese Loves Harold Finch, Kissing, Love, M/M, Missing Scenes, My First Work in This Fandom, One Shot, Please do not hate, Season/Series 01, alternative episode, rinch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:33:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUsagi1995/pseuds/TheUsagi1995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One Shot: Taking Place in between Episode 10 "Number Crush" and Episode 11 "Super" of Season one. It's a missing part, if you will. Rinch (Harold Finch/John Reese)</p><p>In this strange tale, we will witness what would have happened if Carter had never followed John down the stairs and Harold was the one tasked with helping John and saving his life. Mark Snow hunts them down and they end up in a morgue... Where everything shall change.</p><p>“Where are we?” John crocked out brokenly, guilt woven in his tone. “In the city Morgue, Mr. Reese.” Harold sounded as wrecked as John himself was feeling. “What an irony… Don’t you think? It’s the right place for me to be. I am a dead man walking after all. A dead man who keeps cheating death. And sooner or later my debt will get paid.” Harold raised an annoyed eyebrow at him. “Is this going somewhere or should I lower your dose of morphine?” John blinked in evident surprise, but relented and forced his mind to clear.<br/>“You do not belong in a morgue Harold. You shouldn’t have come.”<br/>“I once told you, Mr. Reese, that we are both dead in the eyes of the world. So, permit my intervention but I believe this is exactly where I belong. Right here, with you.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harold Finch/John Reese</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Small Fandoms Fest</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Oh, Lazarus, when will your debts get paid?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Better_Than_Chocolate/gifts">Better_Than_Chocolate</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay so... I am 5 years late for this, since the show ended on 2016, but I am now in love with these two. I do not know if people still read stories about them, but I wished to let myself write, so here we are. Please forgive me, this was not easy to craft and it is my first work in this Fandom.<br/>Title comes from the song "Blood on my name" by " The Wright Brothers"<br/>I do not own Person of Interest. This is a story from fans to fans.</p><p>A gift to my dearest friend "Better_Than_Chocolate" who is always there for me!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span class="u">Oh, Lazarus, when will your debts get paid?</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>“Just get to the ground-floor John.”</p>
<hr/><p>A voice in his ear, the same one which had probed him out of the shadows, the one which had led him back to the world of the living.</p><p>Harold.</p><p>John vaguely remembered obeying blindly, his body in complete opposition to the command he gave to the man.</p>
<hr/><p>“Don’t even risk it.” <em>I am not worth it,</em> John wished to add, yet his body moved on its own accord and the sheer herculean effort it took for him to drag his ravaged leg along the hard concrete stole his breath away. He was certain that the fact he could still partly walk while sustaining two bullet wounds, was a result of divine intervention. He had never truly believed in God, yet he knew he owed the Devil his due. So, perhaps his strength was deriving from the very core of his being, flooding every ravaged, dying fiber of his body with the sheer need to see Harold one last time. He couldn’t determine which was more likely to be the actual cause, only that, either way, he was at the end of the road.</p><p>One could avoid Death for so long after all.</p>
<hr/><p>The roar of the engine as a luxurious car pulled over a few feet before him caused John’s muscles to tense. The fine tires screeched as Harold abused the breaks, getting out of the driver’s seat before the vehicle had come to a full stop.</p>
<hr/><p>John’s blurry eyes watered as the world around him dimed. His surroundings were now liquid, slipping away, revealing an ugly, unyielding lair of thick darkness in their wake. Only one sole beacon of light remained, only one being which the darkness could not tame, perhaps because he held an immense capacity of light within him, or perhaps because he had tamed the darkness first.</p>
<hr/><p>Harold limped toward him with open arms, enfolding him in his embrace in one, graceless, yet strangely tender motion, supporting more than half his weight.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have come, you shouldn’t—” The words were slurred and nearly incoherent, yet Harold gripped the back of John’s neck, directing John’s head to rest on his good shoulder. “What I should and shouldn’t do, is not for you to decide Mr. Reese.” Harold retorted, fear woven in every word. John attempted to shake his head but the notion caused what little control he had over his tattered body to slip away.</p>
<hr/><p>“John, I need you to help me so that I can help you.” The tone was apologetic, yet urgent, causing John to inhale deeply so as to offer a small not. If his dry, blooded lips touched the back of Harold’s neck none of the two partners made a comment on the matter.</p>
<hr/><p>“I need you to lean on me and we will walk to the car. Can you do that?” There it was again, that voice. Now all the traces of guilt were gone, yet if one was to pay close attention, he would find fear lingering underneath. John however, could no longer do such a thing. All he heard was the soft, calculating tone he had come to know and long for.</p>
<hr/><p>Slowly, they made their way to the car and John clutched at his stomach, seemingly too lost to the world to be repulsed by the stench of blood. “Now, I need you to sit in the passenger’s seat John, come on.” The request, polite as it had been, was not one he could comply to, so Harold resulted in having to push him inside roughly and close the door behind him.</p>
<hr/><p>The seat beneath John squished as he leaned backward and Harold had to place a hand over his mouth as the eerie sound signified the amount of blood spilled on the expensive leather. The angle of John’s battered body was awkward at best. He was practically sitting on his left side to relieve his right leg and to also try and put more pressure on the wound on his abdomen. Alas, it was futile.</p><p>The time had come for him to pay his debts.</p>
<hr/><p>“Harold…” The sound which escaped his lips was a raspy, watery one. The man in question threw himself on the driver’s seat, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands. “Hold on, Mr. Reese.” John allowed his eyes to fall closed. Silence shrouded him, until Harold’s voice pierced the darkness.</p><p> </p><p>“Stay awake John.” The man in question attempted to offer a reply yet all he managed was to choke on his own blood.</p>
<hr/><p>“Mr. Reese, you can ask me anything.” It was a desperate plea which only received a growl for an answer. “Fair enough,” Harold muttered as he fumbled with his side of the door. Ignoring his damaged hip, he leaned forward, making sure John’s upper body was constrained by the seat-belt. Underneath him, John’s frame convulsed as more blood flew down freely. Harold sat back behind the wheel, heart hammering against his ribs.</p>
<hr/><p>The roar of the engine echoed once again, and in his haze, John could have sworn it was Harold who had unleashed that sound; Harold, the man who, like John, had fooled death, and was now fighting against him.</p>
<hr/><p>“Navy blue.” Harold spoke without an intake for a breath, his right hand flying off to where John’s own hand was lingering over the open wound on his abdomen. When a slow brush of callused fingers followed that statement, Harold dared to curl the corners of his lips upwards. “I had figured it out…” John muttered through gritted teeth. “And I will have you know, Mr. Reese, that I have copies of every last play of Shakespeare, all first editions of course.” The touch on Harold’s free hand lingered this time. “Of course…” John parroted absently.</p>
<hr/><p>“I also possess a vast walk-in closet. Believe me when I say one could get lost in there.” The attempt at humor was frail at best, but enough to urge John to blink his eyes open. “Cameras?” he muttered and Harold snorted nervously. “Of course there are cameras, Mr. Reese. After all, I am a lone, paranoid billionaire.” The small laugh John blessed Harold with, soon turned into a dreadful cough, yet, in John’s rapidly failing mind, it was worth it. He was now shaking, blood loss eating him away. Only his hand was warm, safe in Harold’s grasp.</p>
<hr/><p>“My home, Mr. Reese, my personal and somewhat permanent residence, to be precise, is not that hard to find. Perhaps once we get the chance, I could offer you a hint as to where it is.” John drew his hand away, using every bit of strength he had left. If Harold was willing to tempt him with hints about where his true residence lay, he was not going to make it out of that car alive.</p>
<hr/><p>Harold kept on driving but his now bloody fingers sought out John’s palm. “You offered me not only a choice about how to live, Harold,” John’s raspy call was barely audible, yet his soft, nearly flirty tone still had the same effect on Harold, “You offered me a good cause to die for… But—” A rough cough hindered John as Harold pressed down on the gas pedal, “But I don’t deserve to die in your arms. I will not do this to you.” The pain reflected in the rearview mirror as Harold raised his eyes was unimaginable, yet no more words were spoken as whatever Harold was going to say never got passed his lips.</p>
<hr/><p>The eerie sound of tires screeching against the dark asphalt echoed and from the corner of bloodshot eyes, John made out the shape of an SUV in which was a figure, clad in black attire. From the side mirror, John saw the figure raising a gun at their direction and soon enough the sharp crack of bullets being fired pierced his ears.</p>
<hr/><p>He drew in a breath, his nostrils smothered by a mixture of blood, gunpowder and what he had come to identify as <em>Harold</em>.</p><p>He wished to yell for Harold to get down, to turn his upper body away from the windshield, yet no words fell from his lips. The word tilted as the car nearly swilled around itself. A hand covered John’s eyes, bringing his head down, lower still, until John was spewed half on the passenger seat and half on Harold’s lap, his head safely concealed from the rain of the shuttering glass, nestled between Harold’s lower half and the front part of the vehicle.</p>
<hr/><p>The car turned suddenly, yet the hand over John’s eyes remained, making sure John would not crush his skull open. The gunshots did not cease, and now the rear windshield was the one to give in under the assault. John shuddered as shards danced around him, yet the firm palm, which protected his eyes allowed him mere glimpses of the spectacle.</p>
<hr/><p>Thousands upon thousands of blue orbs, frightened yet fiery, were trapped inside those pieces of glass. An ethereal mixture of moonlight tempered with a hue of neon yellow from the street lamps shone as the course of the vehicle became nearly erratic. Peculiar shadows crept where John’s head was nestled and for a mere moment he thought the Devil reached out to drag him away.</p>
<hr/><p> Suddenly, the car took a sharp turn to the right and the lights dimmed. John blinked despite himself, realizing the long fingers he had spent hours peeking in from over the rims of books were now moist with salty teardrops. The car engine roared again as the vehicle launched forward with a breathtaking speed. Maybe Harold Finch had a thing for dangerous speed limits. Maybe he had a soft spot for them, like he had one for good books, green tea, expensive suites and so many other things John would never get the chance to discover.</p>
<hr/><p>Oh, how he wished he had the time to learn the truth behind the man who so loved to fly he had taken on numerous aliases of birds. How he longed for that man to say his name again, to gift him with one of those rare smiles that could melt one’s heart. John blinked, or so he thought, flinching at the sensation of round drops colliding with the right side of his neck. How had he managed to get blood to drip over there he was not certain, but then again, very few things in his life had ever been.</p>
<hr/><p>“Thank you… Harold…” John muttered as darkness took him, wishing never to release him.</p>
<hr/><p>When he opened his eyes again, the blurry glow of cold hospital lamps welcomed him. He shuddered, aware that he was lying on a bed which was rolling down a hall. Through falling eyelashes, John caught a glimpse of Harold standing over him. Yet, there was something wrong with the assumption, for if he was simply standing over him, why was he moving? John exhaled, clinging on to the only thing he had left, Harold’s panting voice. “Mr. Reese, I need you to stay awake. Focus, John, focus on me.” And damn it, John tried, because Harold was distraught, and clearly in pain.</p>
<hr/><p>Each word he spoke was depriving him of precious oxygen and in the deepest part of his soul , John wished he could lean forward and offer him every molecule his own lungs contained. It was in the echo of that hidden thought that John’s eyes fell shut once more.</p>
<hr/><p>The next time John became aware of his surroundings, Harold was standing a few feet away, favoring his good side to such an extend John was certain the man would topple over. Thousands upon thousands of bands of dollars passed before John’s eyes in a flash, followed by bits and pieces of words he had heard before. Harold, laying out information only he could ever dig up, requesting something in return, something the man across the room was truly good at providing.</p>
<hr/><p>John, beaten and on the verge of death, mustered the strength to turn his head to his left and make out the shape of a man, this time clad in white. The room fell silent, yet John could feel the air vibrating as Harold spoke again. He didn’t make out the exact context of what his friend was saying, but then again, he knew he didn’t have to. The air crackled with the promise of a better life for that man who was clad in white. A meaningful life. John managed to cast a fleeting glance on Harold who, despite his own discomfort, stared back at him. His eyes were weary yet soft, laden with guilt and pain.</p>
<hr/><p>John saw him debating inwardly on whether he should move to where the stitcher was, but he seemed unable to make a decision. Was it because of the pain on his leg or his inability to fully comprehend the situation and provide comfort, John could not be certain. As the man in white stepped near him, determined and purposeful, John struggled to make sure Harold’s face would be the last thing he would see. The stranger hovered over John, ready to hide him from Harold’s line of sight, when a simple yet so meaningful call filled the room. “I will be waiting for you, as always.” The words weighed heavily on John’s already battered body. He could hear the promise lingering there, and in his haze he thought he could find traces of longing as well. With the last slivers of consciousness he had left, he gazed at Harold and did the only thing he could.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>He smiled.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Behind closed eyelashes, John greeted Death again, but refused to follow him.</p><p>His debt to him would have to wait. The people he had lost, the people who he had failed had to wait, he could not meet them just yet.</p><p>Harold had to come first.</p><p>In his mind’s eye, he saw Jessica smiling at him, extending her hand towards him. John felt his fingers furling as he stepped closer to her, only to stop mere inches away.</p><p>“I am sorry.” Was the only thing he ever said. For what, he was not sure, yet she only smiled.</p><p>“Go to him.” Her voice, he had never forgotten the sound of her voice. He wanted to weep, but instead, he obeyed.</p><p>Never had she sounded so sweet…</p>
<hr/><p>When John finally opened his eyes again, time had lost meaning. When and where dimed, losing their significance. Only one thing mattered enough to urge John to part his lips.</p><p>“Harold—”</p><p>“Relax, soldier boy.” John tensed at the sound of the unknown voice, even more so when said call was amplified in volume as it traveled throughout the vast, colorless room. “Your partner is in the bathroom at the back.” The world around John became more solid with every blink.</p>
<hr/><p>“What for?” John frowned at his own preposterous question, but the doctor only smiled, following the IV line from John’s right forearm and upward with his eyes. John needn’t be told that he was stacked up with morphine. In his mind, Harold’s voice echoed, <em>‘What I, or anyone for that matter, do in the bathroom is none of your business.’ </em>“Oh, I don’t know, he seemed like a—” the man trailed off as John took over, his voice weak, yet not lacking fondness, “A very private person, yeah, I know.”</p>
<hr/><p>An eerie sound that could only be identified as a vicious regurgitating gurgle pierced the fragile silence and before he knew it, John found himself restrained by the doctor clad in white. “Well, if I had to guess, I wouldn’t bet my money on a self-indulging masturbation.” Firm hands and keen eyes held John pinned against the scratchy hospital bed as painful hissing noises followed by another round of gurgling caused the skin on John’s forearms to crawl.</p>
<hr/><p>“Sit back. You couldn’t walk even if I were to help you.” John’s eyes narrowed, their blurriness clearing. “You shouldn’t help me, you should go and help him.” The man shrugged, dismissing the hissed command, moving across the room away from John, who was still struggling to move. “He instructed me to not leave your side and gave me so much money to patch you up that I would be a fool to ignore him.” A soft thud was then heard as John pushed his head against the pillow, anger deflating. In the distance, the sound of a fucoid running in earnest echoed, causing John to relax a bit.</p>
<hr/><p>“You…” The word was meant as a question and the mysterious man who was still clad in white was kind enough to provide an answer. “I am Dr. Farooq Madan. And you, whoever you may be, have the Devil’s luck. With two severe bullet wounds like that not many would have pulled through.”</p>
<hr/><p>John only scanned the place with his eyes, taking in the strange light bolts and the windowless walls. “This is no hospital.” He stated after a while, swallowing the lamp in his throat. His eyes fell closed despite his valiant attempts to not succumb to sleep. His body came alive again moments later, as he heard heavy, uneven steps drawing near. Through heavy eyelashes he watched the doctor talking to a man who could only be Harold Finch, before taking a duffle bag and exiting the room.</p>
<hr/><p>“You are right, as usual, Mr. Reese. This is indeed, no hospital.” John felt the corners of his lips curling upwards. “Hello to you too, Harold.” He offered meekly, opening his eyes all the way to witness the man in question nearly throwing himself over an uncomfortable plastic chair.</p>
<hr/><p>“Where are we?” John crocked out brokenly, guilt woven in his tone. “In the city Morgue, Mr. Reese.” Harold sounded as wrecked as John himself was feeling. “What an irony… Don’t you think? It’s the right place for me to be. I am a dead man after all. A dead man who keeps cheating death. And sooner or later my debt will get paid.” Harold raised an annoyed eyebrow at him. “Is this going somewhere or should I lower your dose of morphine?” John blinked in evident surprise, but relented and forced his mind to clear.</p>
<hr/><p>“You do not belong in a morgue Harold. You shouldn’t have come.”</p><p>“I once told you, Mr. Reese, that we are both dead in the eyes of the world. So, permit my intervention but I believe this is exactly where I belong. Right here, with you.” John tilted his head, eyeing the man who had so many times saved his life in the eyes, only now he took the time to take in the vicious lines weariness and pain had carved on that already troubled face.</p>
<hr/><p>“Wait,” John trailed off allowing his eyes to roam over Harold’s stiff body, “how did we get out of the car?” Harold pressed his lips in a thin line, fiddling with his fingers. “For a man stuffed up with various antibiotics and narcotics you can surely maintain your clarity. Yet another reason I hired you, Mr. Reese.” John’s hand moved on its own accord, grabbing Harold’s wrist in less than a blink of an eye before the man could attempt to get up from his chair.</p>
<hr/><p>“You carried me.” It was a short phrase, so relatively simple and yet so sharp and heavy and meaningful, John felt himself shuddering under the weight.</p><p>“Oh, please do not be absurd.” Came the rather curt reply from Harold who, to his credit, did a great job at concealing his emotions. Alas, John had been trained to not only listen to what a person said, but also to the things they could not bring themselves to utter.</p>
<hr/><p>“I think I have never been further from being absurd in my life Harold.” Keen blue eyes raked over Harold’s tensed frame, yet John’s tone was not judgmental, on the contrary, it was the last thing Harold expected it to be. Pleading.</p>
<hr/><p>With trembling hands Harold took off his glasses, covering his eyes with his palm. “I didn’t carry you, John.” The guilt ladening the words was unbearable and John had to stop himself from growling. “I did bring you here after we managed to escape Mr. Snow—” at the sound of the name, John’s breath hitched, but he had no chance to interject as Harold answered his unasked question for him. “No, I am not hurt, the car is wrecked but I have already purchased a new one.” John fixed his eyes on the man who was sitting next to his bed and waited.</p>
<hr/><p>“So, yes, I did bring you here after we escaped the close encounter and yes, I did get you out of the car. For some reason you could still walk so you could say I half carried you to the elevator. But I am afraid that is how far my chivalry went.” Harold paused at that, still concealing his eyes.</p>
<hr/><p>“I dragged you the rest of the way. Across the floor, I mean. Then I found a litter, lowered it to the floor and very unprofessionally and rather harshly threw you on it. Quite an unorthodox approach, I must admit.” Silence fell in the room after that and if it weren’t for the raspy exhales that John would let out, Harold would have thought he had fallen asleep.</p>
<hr/><p>“Harold…” The name fell from torn lips like a prohibited hymn to all that John knew he didn’t deserve, yet for some reason had been blessed with. With slow, weary motions, as if afraid of what he would see if he were to look, the man in the chair lowered his palm from his eyes. “No one has ever carried me to safety before. Thank you.” The statement was sincere, coming from the depths of John’s being, from the small part which had been able to not remain unscathed by the darkness, but embrace the light again.</p>
<hr/><p>“Harold, I… I need to tell you…” His voice trailed off, weary and filled with fear. Harold’s body tensed, yet his face was calm, as though he needn’t be told anything.</p>
<hr/><p>“Not now, John. You have had too much morphine into your bloodstream.” It was all Harold replied after a long bit during which he simply gazed at John. The man on the bed chuckled softly. “You’re right.” He offered softly, yet in his voice there was not a single trace of disappointment. Only contentment. “Give me another needle, there in the side drawer.” John instructed and after a moment of awkwardness, Harold obeyed. “Turn your face away Harold.” The man blinked but did as he was told, shifting his entire upper body away from the bed.</p>
<hr/><p>In one smooth motion, John took out the IV from his forearm, biting down on a painful moan. In the tube, clean morphine continued to drip downward as he proceeded to switch the needle with a sterilized one. “Here,” he offered gently, causing Harold to turn his attention on him once again. “What is this?” A soft smile brightened John’s face then. “Morphine, Harold. I have found it very effective, especially after I have thrown up my guts due to intense the pain and stress.” Harold’s face turned a darker shade, but John continued. “Besides, as you said, I have had too much of it already.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Do not be ridiculous, you have been shot twice, doing my bidding because I can’t—”John simply waved his head, extending his trembling hand some more. “Harold,” he muttered, “please.” Like that, for some reason he couldn’t, or to be precise, didn’t want to explain, Harold complied.</p>
<hr/><p>Harold looked at the needle for a while and against his better judgment, began rolling up his sleeve.</p><p>“Let me,” Was all John muttered, remaining unmoving until Harold nodded his consent. He passed him the needle and extended his hands to Harold’s forearm, reverently rolling up his shirt sleeve. Skin met skin and both men inhaled sharply.</p>
<hr/><p> Eventually, Harold attached the pointy end into his flesh, well accustomed to the procedure. He exhaled a long breath, leaning back against his chair.</p>
<hr/><p>Long moments passed before either of them spoke again.<br/>
“I do not enjoy morphine. It clouds the mind.” John chuckled anew, biting down on a growl of pain. “Afraid you will let your tongue slide?” It was only half a joke, which Harold did not signify with an answer. He moved his chair right next to the bed, allowing his eyes to flutter closed. If his head lolled to the side where John was lying, either man made a comment on it.</p>
<hr/><p>Seconds, minutes, or perhaps hours later, Harold spoke again, his voice low, yet firm.</p><p>“MR. Reese,” he called, and the man next to him sprung to life at once. “Yes, Finch?” A pause befell them, before a creaking sound of an old mattress dipping echoed in the cold room.</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
“I love you too.” John blinked, as Harold was now seated on the bed next to him.</p><p>Silence once again crawled in between them, until John’s brightest smile caused his face to shine and the lines caused by old ghosts to fade under the shimmering presence of happiness.</p>
<hr/><p>“Having too much morphine in your bloodstream, Harold?” John joked as he leaned forward, inches before the man’s face. “Not nearly enough, John. Not nearly enough…” All smart retorts were swallowed by Harold’s warm lips and John found that, all of a sudden, getting shot was not so bad after all…</p>
<hr/><p>When the two broke apart, an insufficient amount of time later, they simply sat next to one another, getting lost in oceans of blue yet unexplored and untamed.</p>
<hr/><p>And so it was, that the man who had once been considered to be God, as he created a Machine capable of unimaginable actions, was at a loss for words, stunned to silence before the man who believed himself indebted to the Devil.</p>
<hr/><p>There, they sat together, there, with their hands entwined. There, amidst a morgue, where the dead lingered, the two faced one another in silence, their hearts beating in sync, defying Gods, Devils and Death itself.</p><p>As for the debt... It should have to wait.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>The End...</em>
  </strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, here it ends...<br/>Loved it? Hated it? Please let me know of your thoughts!<br/>Stay safe and healthy wherever you are!<br/>Until next time,<br/>Love you all,<br/>Usagi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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